Only One
by PlushChrome
Summary: Micky can't give her much for her birthday, but he does whatever it takes to make her special day count. Written as a birthday present. :D
1. Micky

The pad was abuzz with excitement, as preparations were made for a very special party, for a very special girl.

"Alright, let's go through the plan one more time," Micky said, nervously pacing the floor.

"Again?" Peter asked. "We've already gone through it sixteen times."

"Step One: Micky takes Becca out for a romantic picnic in the park," Mike recited.

"Step Two," Davy said. "Davy picks up the cake from the bakery while Micky and Becca are out of the house."

"Step Three," Mike said. "Mike puts up the party decorations while Micky and Becca are out of the house."

"Step Four," Peter said. "Peter prepares the snacks while Micky and Becca are out of the house."

"Step Five," Davy said. "Micky brings Becca back to the house after the picnic."

"Step Six," Mike said. "All the guests jump out and yell "SURPRISE" when Becca comes through the front door."

"Step Seven," Peter said, smiling as he recited the next step: "Everyone has fun at the party."

"Alright, so you all know the plan," Micky said. "Hey, I just wanted to make sure everything is perfect."

"Don't worry so much," Davy said. "Everything will be fine."

"Yeah..." Micky said, clearly not convinced. "Just... make sure it is."

"Aye-aye, Skipper!" Davy said with a salute.

"Heh," Micky said dryly. "Cute."

There was a knock at the door.

"It's her!" Micky exclaimed in a loud whisper. "Do I look alright!? How's my hair!? Is my nose on straight!? Does this shirt make my shoes look big!?"

"Relax, man!" Mike said with a chuckle as Peter moved to open the door. "You look fine."

The door opened and Micky's girlfriend of three months, Becca, came in. "Hello, Micky," she said with a smile. "Hi, guys."

"Becca, what a pleasant surprise," Mike said. "What brings you here this fine day?"

"Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood, decided to drop by," Becca quipped

"Happy birthday, Becca," Peter said.

"Thanks, Peter," Becca said with a smile.

"Happy birthday from me too, Becca," Micky said. "Ready to go?"

"Yep!" Becca smiled. "I packed our lunch, we can head out any time."

"Good, well, let's go ahead and head on out now," Micky said. "Where's the picnic basket?"

"I put it in the Monkeemobile," Becca said. "We are driving, right?"

"Yeah, sure we are!" Micky said, sending a quick panicked glance at Mike, who grimaced, but nodded. They couldn't let Becca suspect anything, but they had planned on using the car to prepare for the party.

It couldn't be helped, though, and so Micky led the way down the walkway and opened the passenger door for Becca before sprinting around the car and hopping in the driver's seat. He smiled at her as he started the car, and they drove to the park, chatting about the sunshine and the falling leaves.

When they reached the park, Micky picked up the basket and blanket, and followed Becca as they made their way through the trees.

"Here," Becca said, stopping in a small grove near a particularly nice flowerbed. "Right here. It's perfect!"

"It is," Micky agreed, looking around as he walked to where Becca was standing. He set the basket down and laid the blanket out. He and Becca sat down on the blanket and Micky opened the basket. "Ooh, fancy!" He said, pulling out two sandwiches in Ziplock bags. "Let's see what we have here," he said. "Ham and cheese. Classic choice. Ah, what's this?" He reached into the basket again and pulled out two bags of potato chips. "Sour Cream and Onion, Nice, nice," He said. "And I see we also have two Cherry Pepsis, and, to top it off, two Snickerdoodles. All my favorites. However did you guess?"

"I do my research," Becca said with a smile. "And Peter always liked to play spy."

"The snitch," Micky laughed, popping open his Pepsi and taking a sip. "Although, I can't say I mind all that much."

Becca laughed as she opened her sandwich, and as they ate lunch in the brisk autumn air, the sun shone down on them, bathing the place in a golden light. The meal might not have been much, but to Micky and Becca, it couldn't have tasted any better if it were steak and mashed potatoes.

After lunch, they went for a long walk through the park, admiring the red in the trees and the golden leaves flittering through the air on the fall breeze. At one point, Micky picked a few little white flowers and put them behind Becca's ear. They continued their walk until they came to a large tree with many branches, and they both climbed high into the tree and sat among the leaves, listening to the song of the wind and the sunlight dancing through the leaves.

Their walk continued, taking them to a little bridge over a small winding river, and Becca dropped a stick into the water, watching it float under the bridge. Micky skipped a small stone, and they sat together by the riverbed and talked, dipping their bare feet in the rippling water.

A flock of small birds flew by, and Becca laughed as Micky jumped up and began imitating different birdcalls he had learned throughout his life.

Finally, they returned to their picnic spot and packed up their stuff, and began the walk back to the car, hand in hand.

"Hey, Becca, you wait here," Micky said as he put the basket in the Monkeemobile. "I'm gonna go to the corner store there and grab us some popsicles."

"Alright," Becca said. "Hurry back!"

"Definitely," Micky said before heading into the corner store.

"Hey, can I use your phone?" He asked the cashier, who nodded. "Thanks."

He made his way to the phone and dialed the Pad. After a few rings, Mike picked up.

"Hello?" Mike said.

"Hey, Mike, this is Micky," Micky stated. "Hey, we're about to head home. How are things going?"

"They're going perfectly," Mike said, but something in his tone made Micky worry.

"Really?" he asked. "No mishaps, no misfortunes, no Monkee business?"

"Nothing," Mike said. "Everything's absolutely great here."

"Yeah, well, I certainly hope so," Micky said. "Everything has to be perfect. I really want this to be memorable, you know? I want it to be something she'll never forget."

"Mick, I can personally guarantee you, Becca will never forget this party as long as she lives," Mike said.

"...Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better," Micky said dryly.

"Man, everything's gonna be fine," Mike said. "Just come on home, we're all ready. Well... Yeah, we're all ready."

Micky raised an eyebrow at Mike's pause, then sighed. "Fine," he said. "We'll be there in five minutes."

Hanging up the phone, he bought two cherry popsicles and went back out to the car.

"Here you go," he said, handing one to Becca. He ate his as fast as he could without getting brain freeze, and then began the drive as Becca enjoyed hers more leisurely.

Becca took a sidelong glance at him. "What are you grinning about?" She asked him.

"Huh?" Micky said. "Oh, nothing. I'm just happy, that's all..."

Becca seemed suspicious, but said nothing more, and they continued driving home, Micky trying to be more careful not to let his excitement spoil the surprise.


	2. Davy

Meanwhile, back at the pad, the day had started going downhill from the moment Becca and Micky had left the place.

"Alright," Mike said. "Without the Monkeemobile, we're gonna have to alter the plan a bit."

"New step two?" Davy asked.

"Step two," Mike said. "Peter picks up the cake from the bakery because he's the only one who can balance it while running fast."

"Who's gonna get the snacks ready while I'm gone?" Peter asked.

"Step three," Mike said. "Mike prepares the snacks in Peter's absence, because Davy's not a good cook."

"Well, that leaves me decorating the place, then," Davy said.

"And we'd better get started now if we hope to finish before the picnic's over," Mike said. "On your marks... Get set... GO!"

The three Monkees promptly ran into each other, knocking themselves to the floor.

"Ow," Mike said as they all got to their feet. "Okay, let's try again, but this time, let's work on actually getting past each other..."

"Right," Peter and Davy both agreed.

"On your marks..." Mike said. "Get set... "GO!"

This time, the Monkees got past each other will very little fuss, and they all went their separate ways.

Davy ran for the closet, where they had hidden the birthday decorations. Pulling it open, he pulled out a tangled heap of streamers and balloons and banners and string, and, oddly enough, Christmas lights.

"Hey Mike," he called. "Do you want me to put up these lights too?"

"What?" Mike called from the kitchen.

"The Christmas lights," Davy repeated. "Do you want me to put these up too?"

"Uh, it's too long term to plan," Mike said. "Let's hope it goes better if we do."

"What!?" Davy demanded, exiting the closet and looking at where Mike was in the kitchen, distractedly looking through the cupboards.

Mike straightened up. "You asked if we were throwing a party for Christmas," he said, a confused look on his face.

"No I didn't," Davy said. "I said: 'The Christmas lights, do you want them up too?"

"Oh," Mike said, chuckling. "I thought you said "For Christmas, right, you want to do these too?' And I just thought you were talking about parties."

"That's funny," Davy said.

"I just had a terrible realization," Mike said, peering into another cupboard. "It appears we don't have any of the snacks purchased. I thought you went to the store yesterday and bought them?"

Davy shook his head. "I thought you did it," he said.

"Well, this is bad," Mike said. "Okay, okay, I can still fix this. I'll just run down to the store and get some snacks. Yeah, that'll work."

"Okay," Davy said. "But hurry up, Micky will stall as long as he can, but that's not very long."

"Right," Mike said. "See ya soon."

With that, he grabbed his jacket and took off through the back door.

Davy turned back to the closet. "...Mike!" He called, but it was too late. "Ugh, he never told me whether or not he wanted the lights up..."

Oh well. There was nothing for it now. He pulled the whole tangled mess out of the closet and began getting everything free from everything else. He finally had it all out, and began decorating the pad. Starting with the streamers, he tied one end down at the top of the staircase and then climbed down to unfurl the streamers along the wall. Reaching the other end, he stared up at the banister for a few minutes before turning to the camera.

"What is this?" He demanded of the writer. "A short joke?"

But, arguing with the author wasn't going to help anything, and so Davy found a chair and pulled it over to the corner. Standing on his toes on the seat of the chair, he was able to tie the streamers down finally, and he jumped down to admire his work. It looked tacky, the streamers dipped too low down in the middle, and they were far from twisted, instead looking more like caution tape. He wasn't exactly sure how that had been accomplished...

Deciding to try once more, he tore the streamer down and started over.

After about ten minutes, he had enough streamers hung- On that banister. With a sigh, he pushed the chair over to another part of the room, and began his struggle there.

One the streamers had been hung, Davy glanced at his watch. What! Where had the time gone!? He'd spent a half an hour on streamers alone!

Turning and running for the pile of stuff, he tripped over the rug, which had been pushed up a bit.

"Oh, that's just great," he grumbled, standing up. He had been wearing a tee shirt, and now had a red rugburn on his elbow. There was no getting around it, however, and he rushed over to the pile and began blowing up balloons with everything in him.

After he had all the balloons blown up, he looked at his watch, panting for breath. Ten minutes. He had ten minutes before the party was supposed to start, and he still had the lights and the banners to put up, not to mention hanging the balloons.

"Oh, hang the balloons!" He said irritably. Suddenly catching the pun, he chuckled, before pulling himself back together and thinking over what he ought to do. He would hang the banners, and leave the lights in the closet. As for the balloons, he would save them for last. He could hang as many as possible before the party, and then if there were balloons just drifting in the corners of the room during the celebration, so be it.

With this new plan in mind, he gathered the banners and glanced at the door. Where were Mike and Peter?

As if on cue, the door opened and Mike rushed in, carrying a brown paper bag full of treats.

"Sorry I'm late," he said breathlessly. "I'd explain it, but it's a long story. How's the decorating going?" He looked at the decorations, from the still-not-great streamers in sparse places on the wall to the piles of balloons on the floor and the banners in Davy's arms. "Never mind," he said, rushing to the kitchen.

"What'd'ja get?" Davy asked as he began hanging the first banner, again with his trusty chair.

"All sorts of things," Mike said. "Chips, cookies, finger foods... Let's just hope I can get all those cooked in time... Oh, and punch. I gotta get that made, too..."

"I'll leave you to it," Davy said, right as the phone rang.

Mike reached over and picked it, up turning and clicking the oven on while he talked. "Hello?" He said. "...They're going perfectly." He ripped open a bag of food and dumped the contents on a cookie tray, turning and popping them into the oven. "Nothing," he said into the phone. "Everything's absolutely great here."

Closing the oven door, he tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and began his traditional struggle with a bag of pretzels. "Mick, I can personally guarantee you," he said as he worked. "Becca will never forget this party as long as she lives."

Davy chuckled as he hung the last banner and promptly fell off the chair. Mike bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Man, everything's gonna be fine," he said into the phone. "Just come on home, we're all ready. Well..."

The door opened then, and Peter came in, all grins. "Got the cake," he announced.

Mike smiled. "Yeah, we're all ready," he said into the phone. Then he sighed and hung the phone up. "What took so long?" He asked Peter. "No wait, nevermind, I don't want to know. They're on their way home."

Davy looked around, the decorations certainly left much to be desired. They were so... drab, so mediocre.

He turned and eyed the pile of Christmas lights on the floor.

Maybe all hope was not yet lost after all...


	3. Mike

Mike chuckled at the misunderstanding about the lights, thinking it over. It certainly wasn't a bad idea to have the lights up for the party, but with the new time restraints, he wasn't sure.

He was about to call over his shoulder to Davy to leave it and not worry about getting them up, when he opened one last cupboard, just to find it bare. All other thoughts fled his mind as he frowned, and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made itself known. "I just had a terrible realization," He said. "It appears we don't have any of the snacks purchased. I thought you went to the store yesterday and bought them?"

He looked back over at Davy, who shook his head, eyes wide. "I thought you did it," he said.

"Well, this is bad," Mike thought aloud. "Okay, okay, I can still fix this. I'll just run down to the store and get some snacks. Yeah, that'll work."

"Okay," Davy said. "But hurry up, Micky will stall as long as he can, but that's not very long."

"Right," Mike said. Knowing Micky, who did everything quickly just by nature, they didn't have very long at all. "See ya soon."

Grabbing his jacket, Mike shrugged it on as he left the pad and ran as fast as he could to the grocery store. When he reached it, he had compiled a list in his head of what all he would need, and headed straight for the chips aisle first.

He knew Micky liked Sour Cream and Onion, so he picked a bag of that. He also got plain potato chips, because you couldn't go wrong with the classics, and a bag of Barbecue chips to top it off. Pushing his cart to the next aisle, he picked up a few bags of cookies, and then he went on to the next aisle.

Finally having got everything he needed, he pushed his cart up to the front, and saw that the only open aisle was the express lane, for ten items or less. Looking into his cart, he counted his items. Three bags of chips, three bags of cookies, punch mix, two bags of fries to cook in the oven, a bag of popcorn, a bag of pretzels, and sugar to put in the punch.

Twelve items... But he was in a hurry, and they would probably understand.

Moving over to the express lane, he was cut off by someone carrying a watermelon and a water gun.

Mike pursed his lips, but didn't press the issue, it wasn't worth getting in a fight over, and it might make him even more late.

"Hello," the cashier said as she rang up the squirt gun. "How are you today?"

"Just fine, thanks," the customer said.

"Oh, no..." The cashier said. "The scanner isn't... scanning right..."

"Oh, I'm not in a hurry," the customer said.

"Well, thank you for your understanding," The cashier said. "I'll be as quick as possible... Maybe I'll just ring it up manually."

The cashier put the gun down and pulled out a book from under the counter. Flipping through the pages, she began comparing numbers. "Let me see... Product number 389... 746... 52.. 28. Okay... Ah, here it is."

She smiled and punched a few numbers into the cash register. "Alright," she said. "And, one watermelon..." she put the bigger book away and pulled out a smaller one. "Produce," she said to herself, flipping through the pages. "Okay, watermelon..."

She punched in a few more numbers. "Um, how much does it weigh?" She asked.

"Um..." The customer said. "I'm not sure. Does it matter?"

"Well, we charge a certain price per pound," she said.

"Oh, okay," the customer said. "That makes sense. Here, I'll go weigh it."

Taking the watermelon, the customer ran off.

The cashier smiled at Mike. "Good evening," she said. "We'll just be a minute, sorry for the wait."

Mike grimaced, but morphed it into a smile. "Not your fault," he said, trying to remind himself of the same. It wasn't her fault. He had to keep his frustrations under control.

Soon enough, the customer came back. "4.2 pounds," he said.

"Okay," The cashier said, punching in the numbers. "Your total comes out to 3 dollars, fifty-eight cents."

"Cool," the customer said, pulling a wallet out of his pocket. Reaching inside, he pulled out a credit card and handed it to the cashier.

"Ooh, I'm sorry," she said with a grimace. "Our card reader is on the fritz... I can only take cash."

"Oh, wow, that sucks," the customer said. "I'm not sure how much cash I have on me..."

Opening his wallet, he hissed. "Yikes," He said. "I've only got two ones on me. Let's see if I can find any change..."

After searching for quite awhile, the man pulled out three quarters, four dimes, seven nickels, and eight pennies.

"Thanks, let me ring all this up..." The cashier said.

Finally, everything had been rung up, and the customer bagged up his watermelon and squirt gun, and then took off.

Mike stepped forward and began unloading his cart, and the cashier began flipping through the large book, looking for the numbers to add to the list.  
Finally, it seemed, everything had been added, and the cashier turned to Mike with a smile. "Your total comes to Ten dollars, thirty-four cents."

"Thank you," Mike said, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket. Opening it, he pulled out a ten and a five and handed them to the cashier.

"Okay," she said, putting the bills into the cash register. "Let's see... four ones and... two quarters... a dime... a nickel, and a penny. Four dollars and sixty-six cents."

"Thanks," Mike said again, putting the money in his wallet and returning the wallet to his jacket.

Putting the items in a bag, the cashier handed the bag to Mike, who thanked her again and left the store.

Looking at his watch, he saw he only had fifteen minutes before the party was supposed to start.

With four dollars in his pocket, he supposed he could splurge and take a taxi. That was the only way he could make it back in time.

"Taxi!" He called, raising a hand and waiting by the side of the street. With the sound of a rip, a hole in the bag opened up and Mike struggled to catch what he could, the rest of it falling to the floor.

A taxi pulled up then, and Mike looked up as the cabby jumped out.

"Boy, bad luck, ripping your bag like that," the cabby said.

"Yeah, it sure is," Mike agreed, picking everything up.

"Well, I got a paper bag in the cab," said the cabby. "You could use it."

"Well gee, thanks," Mike said as the cabby opened the trunk of the car and pulled a paper bag out.

"Oh, I guess I've got a few cans of food in here..." stated the cabby. "I can't really keep 'em in the trunk..."

"Well, I don't got a whole lot," Mike said. "I can just carry it."

"Wait, I've got an idea!" The cabby said. "Why don't you just keep it? I don't need it. It's just been taking up room in the trunk all this time."

"Really?" Mike asked incredulously.

"Hey, you gotta have a bag for your stuff," the cabby said.

"Gee, thanks," Mike stated, putting his stuff in the bag and climbing in the back seat.

"Where you headed?" The cabby asked, climbing back in the driver's seat.

"1334 North Beechwood Drive," Mike said. "And I'm running late, so if you know any shortcuts, that'd be great."

"Got it," The cabby said. With that, he began the drive.

Once they pulled up to the front of the house, Mike paid the bill and got his groceries, running up the walkway and entering the house.

"Sorry I'm late," he called to Davy. "I'd explain it, but it's a long story. How's the decorating going?" He around the pad, seeing limp streamers along some walls and piles of balloons on the floor. Davy was standing in the middle of the living room, holding banners in his arms.

"Never mind," Mike amended, walking past Davy and heading to the kitchen.

"What'd'ja get?" Davy asked.

"All sorts of things," Mike answered. "Chips, cookies, finger foods... Let's just hope I can get all those cooked in time... Oh, and punch. I gotta get that made, too..."

"I'll leave you to it," Davy said, right as the phone rang.

Mike reached over and picked it, up turning and clicking the oven on while he talked. "Hello?" He said.

"Hey, Mike, this is Micky," Said the same from the other end of the phone. "Hey, we're about to head home. How are things going?"

"They're going perfectly." He ripped open a bag of food and dumped the contents on a cookie tray, turning and popping them into the oven.

"Really?" Micky asked. "No mishaps, no misfortunes, no Monkee business?"

"Nothing," Mike insisted. "Everything's absolutely great here."

"Yeah, well, I certainly hope so," Micky said. "Everything has to be perfect. I really want this to be memorable, you know? I want it to be something she'll never forget."

Closing the oven door, Mike tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and began his traditional struggle with a bag of pretzels. "Mick, I can personally guarantee you," he said as he worked. "Becca will never forget this party as long as she lives."

Davy suddenly fell off the chair he was standing on, and Mike bit his lip to keep from laughing as Micky continued to speak.

"...Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better," he said dryly.

"Man, everything's gonna be fine," Mike said into the phone. "Just come on home, we're all ready. Well..."

The door opened then, and Peter came in smiling. "Got the cake," he announced.

Mike smiled. "Yeah, we're all ready," he said into the phone.

"...Fine," Micky said. "We'll be there in five minutes."

With a click, the phone was set down. Mike sighed and hung the phone up. "What took so long?" He asked Peter. "No wait, nevermind, I don't want to know. They're on their way home."

Turning back to the kitchen, he pulled the oven open and looked at the fries. He wasn't sure they'd be done in time.

Looking back at the bag on the counter, he wondered what kinds of canned foods they now owned. He might be able to whip something up...


	4. Peter

Peter ran for the door, exiting through it and running for all he was worth towards the bakery.

"Help!" He heard someone call, and he stopped, looking around. A small kid was nearby, crying out for help and looking up into a very tall tree.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, wanting to get going but unable to just leave the kid crying there.

"My kite," The kid declared. "It's stuck in the tree!"

Peter looked up, and saw that there was indeed a blue kite tangled in the branches high in the tree.

"Oh my," he said. "Yeah, it's really tangled up in there, isn't it..."

Well, he couldn't very well leave the poor kid's kite in the tree. "Wait here," he said. Then, with a jump, he grabbed onto the lowest limb and lifted himself up into the tree. Climbing up to the top, he got the kite loose. Then began the real work of getting the string untangled from all the branches.

He worked for a long time, but finally got them all loose. Climbing down, he handed the kite and the roll of string to the little boy, who smiled.

"Thanks, Mister!" He said before running off.

Peter smiled and continued on his way, stopping a little ways along to help an elderly lady cross the street and rescue a kitten from a bunch of stray dogs, who he then returned to their owners after reading their tags.

Finally, he reached the bakery and looked at the wall clock.

It was much later than he had thought, but there was still plenty of time for him to get back to the pad before the party.

"Hello," he said, walking up to the counter and addressing the surly-looking baker. "I'm here to pick up an order."

"Name?" The baker asked.

"Tork," Peter said with a smile. "Peter Tork."

"No Torks on the list," The baker said. "Guess we don't have your order."

"What?" Peter asked, dismayed. "How do you not have our order!?"

"Sorry kids, thems the breaks," the baker said. "Sometimes you just don't have the cake you ordered. Sometimes you work hard all day to put food on the table and money in your wife's purse, just to come home and find she's packed up all her money and the kids and left you, _because_ you worked so hard to put that stolen money into her purse. Sometimes, life just stinks."

Peter didn't really know what that all meant, but nodded anyway. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Why are _you_ sorry!?" The baker snapped. "You don't know me from beans! Why would someone just up and walk in off the street and apologize for what they didn't even do!"

"I don't know," Peter admitted in confusion.

"Yeah, well, that's all right," the baker said. "What was your order? Was it placed under a different name?"

"Well, it's for a birthday party for Becca Kaye," Peter suggested.

The baker looked at his book. "No Becca Kaye here," he said.

"Try Micky Dolenz, she's his girlfriend," Peter suggested

The baker looked. "No Micky Dolenz either," he said.

Then suddenly Peter realized what he should have said all along. "Mike Nesmith!" He exclaimed. "He was originally supposed to pick up the cake!"

"Ah, there we go," the baker said. "Mike Nesmith. Alright, your cake is in the back. I'll go get it."

Peter smiled and waited as the baker left. After a few moments, he came back in carrying a cake in a box.

"There we go," he said. "One bar mitzvah cake, all ready for pick up."

"Wait a minute," Peter said. "It's supposed to be a birthday cake."

"Oh, snap..." the baker said. "It's a bar mitzvah. The order must've gotten mixed up. Unless Cheryl deliberately freaked my orders before she left."  
Opening the box, Peter saw a bright blue and orange cake with words written in white:

"HAPPY BAR MITZVAH  
BECKY KAY"

"Her name is Becca Kaye, with an e, also," Peter said.

"Well, I can't make another cake," the baker said. "My decorator ran off with Cheryl. This was the last cake he finished. I was gonna close up early."

Peter bit his lip. They needed a cake for the party. That much was certain.

"Well..." he said. "I'm pretty good with art and stuff."

"Kid, you gotta good heart, I'll give ya that," the baker said. "But you can't just pick up cake decorating."

"Oh, I pick up a lot of things," Peter said amiably. "At least give me a chance."

"...Alright," the baker said reluctantly. "But if you get my kitchen messy, you're cleaning it all up!"

Leading Peter to the back and into the kitchen, Peter looked around at all the decorating tools and smiled. This wouldn't be too hard.

* * *

"There," Peter said, stepping back and smiling. "It's finished."

The baker stood in stunned silence behind Peter. "...It's... it's... beautiful!" He said, sniffling. "Come back on Monday, kid, and you've got a steady job!"

"Thanks," Peter said, glancing at the wall clock. "For now, I'd better get going. The party starts in twelve minutes. Oh! Oh, goodness! The party starts in twelve minutes!"

"Well, you'd better hurry!" The baker said, hurriedly helping Peter pack the cake. "I'll call you a taxi!"

The baker rushed from the room and Peter carefully balanced the cake box and carried it from the room. The baker's taxi pulled in and Peter placed the cake box safely inside.

"It was already close," the baker said. "It was driving by right as I ran outside."

"Thanks, boss," he said with a smile. "See you on Monday."

"You got it, kid," the baker said. "Your talents can really turn my life around."

Climbing into the taxi, the cab driver turned around. "Where to?" he said.

"1334 North Beechwood Drive," Peter said.

"Whoa, really!?" the cabby did a double-take. "I just dropped someone off there like, a minute ago! It's right down the block! Why not just walk?"

"Well, I didn't want to risk dropping the cake..." Peter said.

"Say no more," the cabby said. "I'll have you there in a jiffy."

"Thank you," Peter said.

In no time at all, the taxi pulled up in front of the pad and Peter exited the car, lifting the cake and carrying it to the front door. Balancing it on one knee, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Got the cake," he announced to Mike and Davy, who were inside.

"Yeah, we're all ready," Mike said into the phone before hanging it up. "What took so long?" He asked. "No wait, nevermind, I don't want to know. They're on their way home."

Mike turned back to the oven and Davy looked at a pile of lights on the ground, and Peter carefully carried the cake over to the center of the room. He smiled, this cake was going to be amazing.


	5. Back Where We Started

Micky was terribly nervous as he opened the passenger door of the Monkeemobile, offering Becca a hand as she climbed out of the car.

"Right this way, m'lady," he said in a nasally voice, doing his chauffeur impression.

"Thank you, good sir," Becca replied in an accent of her own. Together, they walked up to the front door.

Opening the door, they stepped inside.

"Why are all the lights off?" Becca wondered aloud.

"Oh, here, let me get that," Micky said, reaching over and clicking on the lights.

"SURPRISE!" The other three Monkees jumped out from behind the couch, as all of Becca's friends also jumped into view.

Becca shrieked, startled, and then began laughing. "You guys threw me a surprise party!?" She squealed. "Wow, I... I honestly didn't suspect it, this is amazing!"

Looking around, Micky had to agree it was. When he had turned on the lights, Davy had also plugged in a set of white Christmas lights strung along the banister, and the twinkling soft glow made the lighting in the room seem almost magical, and the balloons drifting lazily across the room looked to be a kaleidoscope of colors.

The table was set with all sorts of food, chips and drinks and something that smelled delicious, walking over, Micky saw a plate of what appeared to be chili-cheese nacho fries, right next to a bowl of chopped mixed fruit and another plate of fried baby corn.

And finally, set up on the counter for all to see, was a beautiful three-tiered cake with white frosting, decorated with green icing to look like trees and clear sprinkles giving the appearance of snow, while what appeared to be a waterfall of frozen icicles came off each tier and pooled into a glassy lake on the bottom, with a little sugar-glass ice skater on the lake. There were candles on the cake, flickering fire-light that matched the Christmas lights.

Pretty much, if Micky were to look for a word to describe the party, he would have picked "perfect."

Turning to Becca with a smile, he took her hand in his. "Happy birthday," he said before letting go and moving to join the others on stage. And as they ended the night to "You Just May Be the One," he looked over and saw Becca smiling.

Yes, he decided. Perfect just about hit the spot.


End file.
